A Maddening Experiment
by Chinesemoon
Summary: Sherlock has a rather maddening experiment he'd like to test out on Molly. Post- Reichenbach Falls. Sherlock/Molly
1. Chapter 1

A Maddening Experiment

By Chinesemoon

It was unbelievable, but there he was, sitting on her sofa, in her flat, arms folded and face plastered with a distant look. Molly couldn't help but admire him a little – oh, _just a little_, she knew he returned no feelings. His thin frame molded and folded perfectly to the contours of her life – err, her sofa. How she had dreamed of him being here with her, how she had longed to hear him calling her name –

"Molly," said Sherlock, his palms pressed together, distant look intact. "Your girlish fantasies are truly fascinating."

Molly blushed a deep crimson. She stammered – damn her telling stammer! – "D-Don't know what you're on about."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a most infuriating way. "Your flushed face suggests increased blood flow, your pupils are dilated, your posture is a sure-sign of arousal—"

"Steady on," Molly squeaked, consciously uncrossing her legs. She blushed again and made to get up. "Don't know what you're on about. Tea? Oh…never mind, I know you don't want any…"

"Tea would be lovely," he replied, glancing at her. She stumbled up-right, eyebrows raised. Nodding, she made for the kitchen. After clicking on the water kettle, she took a steading breath. _This is ridiculous_, she thought. _This is MY home. Why should I feel like a fool in MY home? After all…I did help him fake his own death. He owes me…least he could do is not be a prick. Perhaps an impossible request_.

Tea in hand, Molly returned to the living room. Wordlessly, she handed Sherlock his tea. She found it was better not to speak. She took a few sips, snuggling up on the sofa. She folded her legs to her chest. Sherlock was still silently musing.

After a period of silence, Sherlock shifted in his chair and turned to stare at Molly. Somehow, this direct attention made her more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"Molly," he started, now staring intently at her. "I owe you a thank you. Surely, if not for you, this wouldn't have panned out. Rather, perhaps they'd be cleaning me off the pavement by now."

"Glad to help," she smiled faintly. "Really, it's no trouble. Er, I'm always helping my friends fake their deaths and then hiding it from the world." She gave a feeble laugh.

Sherlock cocked his head and squinted. "Ah, a joke," he said stonily. "How entertaining."

"Right then…" she trailed off. "Time for bed."

Sherlock cocked his head at her again, this time adding a flourishing eyebrow raise. She blushed, stammering, "O-obviously you go on sleeping on the sofa, me in my bed. You know, alone as usual. I m-mean, sometimes with company…er, not Moriarty though, never had him over…er…" she smacked her hand to her forehead. Why could she never form proper sentences around this man? "I'll just go then, shall I?"

She hurried out of the room, mentally kicking herself. Clearly, he had no interest in her. He had more interest in John Watson, or even a bag of crisps. She thought perhaps he was gay. It would certainly explain a lot. But if that were the case, she was sorry for it. Such gorgeous hands…

_Knock, knock_.

"Blast," Molly cursed, turning her lamp light on. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked at the clock on her nightstand – 2 am. What now? It was the middle of the night, for bloody sakes!

"Who's that?" she called, stumbling to the door. She heard an exasperated sigh.

"It's the fairy queen," came the sarcastic reply. "Who do you think?"

Molly opened the door and peered through the crack. "What's the matter? It's the middle of the night."

"Can I come in?" he asked, in what she considered a rather non-chalant manner considering the circumstances. "Please? If I may…"

"Well, I don't think—" he pushed his way inside. "This is rather awkward, Sherlock…"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, waving his hands. "The world is full of awkward events."

"Um, so can I help you?" she asked, suddenly now annoyed. He had some nerve to come barging into her bedroom in the middle of the night, after she had so graciously agreed to hide him from civilization.

Sherlock threw himself down onto her bed. He spread his long legs out, stretching his arms back behind his head. He stared at her for a moment. "Thought we'd have a little chat, perhaps test out some of my theories."

"So you've come to chat in the middle of the night?" she asked, hands on hips. "That's rather a lot of nerve, don't you think? I mean, I've opened my flat to you, kept your secret, haven't asked anything in return—"

"Precisely," he said, suddenly shooting straight up into a sitting position. He stared at the spot on the bed next to him. She sighed and tentatively approached – imagine, her own damn bed – and sat down. She was growing angrier by the second.

"Precisely what?" she quipped, arms crossed. "Precisely bloody _what_?"

"Hmm, colorful language," he said, suddenly smiling. "Fascinating development."

"Yes, how ruddy fascinating," she huffed. Whether it was from lack of sleep or lack of patience, she was suddenly growing increasingly bold. She took his arm and began to shove him. She was infuriated to find that she could not budge him. "Sherlock, it's the middle of the night, and so please – I say this respectfully – but sod off! I want to go to sleep. Sod your 'experiments' and 'theories.'"

"Fine," he said, kicking her covers off to her side. "But first, just a quick experiment, if you'll permit it."

"An experiment?" she sighed. "Really now, leave your experiments til morn—"

"Yes," he said, leaning dangerously close to her. She shut up immediately. "But surely this can't wait."

"S-surely not…I suppose…" she said, vaguely. Her breathing caught in her throat in the most unbearable way. "S-surely…not."

"You do have a terrible habit, Molly," he said. Hmm, was it her or did he just purr at her. "You really must stop talking so much. How unnecessary."

"Quite," she said. Her heart was about ready to burst. Was he going to make a move? Was he going to make a long-awaited, blessed, sodding move?

His hand trailed down the side of her face. His brows furrowed, as if he was seriously contemplating the shape of her face and the way her hair fell into her eyes. He brushed some strands away. She was aching, practically dying for just a taste of his lips. Surely he planned this.

"You're intriguing," he offered, his face close to hers, his breath on her cheek. His lips brushed her ear and his breath was tantalizingly wet. "I've solved your mystery, and yet I'm still puzzled by it."

She could practically scream. She carefully inched her fingers to his leg – no, it was his thigh. _Steady on, Molly_, she thought. _This might be some mad joke. Or perhaps a dream…_

He bit her ear gently and she jumped, startled. Definitely not a dream. Was it her imagination or was he running his tongue down her earlobe?

"Wh-what does this mean exactly?" she said, her voice practically inaudible. "You've always been so oblivious, so distant." His tongue was making its way back up her ear.

"Distant? No. Reserved? Perhaps." What a maddening answer!

"I was sitting in the living room," he offered, now kissing her neck softly. "When it occurred to me: I really haven't properly thanked you for your help."

"I-it's really nothing," she shivered. She dared not move her hand any farther up his leg. He'd taken no notice of her wondering hand.

He laughed almost dryly in between kisses. His kisses were working their way back up her face. Finally, his eyes stared directly into hers. "Really Molly, if I can see through the biggest criminal masterminds in England, I rather think I can see through you."

She moved her face back a few inches. His hand caught her head and he gently tugged at her hair. It hurt a bit, but it was a strange sort of pleasurably hurting. She was startled to realize it.

"Ah, but I haven't finished with you yet," he said, staring at her lips. He licked his own. She was near fainting. "I've a long way to go yet before my theory can be proved. First, experimentation is in order."

He pressed his lips to hers slowly and carefully. It took all her strength not to melt completely into him. She was still in a state of shock. Somewhere in her mind lingered the fear that this might be some cruel joke or perhaps even her imagination. She allowed herself to kiss back – but only just a little. _There,_ she thought. _I'll show you Sherlock Holmes._

He pulled away briefly. "Hmm, better than I expected." His lips returned to hers, this time with more urgency. She found herself pulling at his robe, somewhat more desperately than she'd intended. She'd wanted him for a terribly long time. He brushed her hands away and she couldn't help feeling dejected. Was this it then? He parted her lips with his tongue, exploring her mouth. Suddenly she frowned. _He really thinks he's clever, doesn't he?_ she thought.

She pushed him back into the bed, breaking their kiss. She quickly straddled him and pinned his arms above his head. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Interesting turn of events," he said. "Unfortunately, I rather fancy being on top." He quickly grabbed her and rolled over her – now he was pinning her down. She squirmed underneath him in a most satisfying way.

"Remember how I said I needed you?" he muttered softly. "I realize now what I meant by it."

He kissed her again, this time rougher, more urgently than before. She felt her breath was taken away as he carefully slipped a hand down her leg to find the hem of her night gown. She gasped as he slipped his hand under her gown and stroked her leg, a little higher, a little higher –

"This will never do," he purred, tugging at her hemline and quickly lifting it up. "Shall we try this scenario without the gown?"

Her eyes suddenly darkened in a way which he was not accustomed to. "Rather. And shall we try it with you also naked?"

Her bravery surprised him a little. He smirked, untying his robe. "Really? Not sure you'd like the result…"

"Suppose I am the judge of that," she blushed but held his gaze. He smiled in what she supposed was his most seductive way. She thought it was working quite well.

He slipped out of his robe and tossed it on the floor. He was still on top of her and her view was rather…splendid from beneath him. Yes, he certainly passed the test.

He lifted her gown off her and tossed it on the floor with his robe. He stared silently at her for a moment. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. "Well, well," he muttered, kissing her neck, her chest and her bosom, "you always did aim to please."

She found herself wrapping her legs around him, almost – yes, _almost_ – unconsciously. She'd dreamed of this moment, imaged it would be snarky, but she had never dared to allow her fantasies to get as far along as this. His warm hands were gliding up her leg, tracing her thigh…oh, and how splendid that he chose not to wear anything under his robe. Splendid, splendid.

"This is the part in which our story can go two ways," he purred seductively. "I could be a gentleman, gentle, soft. Or I could sway dangerously on the rakish side, rough and tumble as they say. I'd ask your opinion but I already know the answer. Right, rakish it is."

He kissed her breasts, licking and sucking when appropriate, opening her legs, exploring her body here and there. She allowed him to do what he would with her. She made no objections, no sounds expect for occasional, startling loud squeals and gasps. When he slid into her, she wrapped her legs tighter about him. He really was deceptively heavenly. Their bodies had now begun to move in unison, all speech promptly ending in favor of heavy panting, gasps and moans from both of them. He slid her arms above her head and placed his face to her neck. His passionate panting and soft moaning drove her practically to the edge. She could almost see white. When finally he could stand it no longer, his grip on her arms tightened and he finally let go – and in that moment she knew this was the first time he had ever allowed himself to let go completely. She closed her eyes tightly, enjoying his body twitching and moving. When finally he stopped moving, he lifted off of her slightly and stared at her, a smirk on his lips.

"Well, I must say, that experiment went better than I expected."

"Glad to be of service," she said with a giggle. It was the first time she had giggled in front of him. "That was rather nice."

"It will be rather nice," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "when I'm finished."

Suddenly he had scooted down to the end of her bed and pulled her down toward him. She was caught quite off guard. His mouth kissed her in a most…intimate location. She blushed deeper than she ever had before. His tongue really could do the most amazing things to her. One moment her back was arching, the next moment she was gripping the sheets for dear life. He was doing anything and everything she could imagine, interspersed with gentle chuckles, his green eyes often looking up and meeting her own eyes. It wasn't long before she herself was convulsing in a most embarrassing but pleasing way. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she held it in – the result was a strangled cry and much thrashing about.

Sherlock pulled himself back up to lie next to her. She caught her breath and he smiled in a devilish way. "All right, now my job is done."

"Splendid job," she offered shyly. "Actually, quite well done."

"Indeed," he said with a nod. "Successful experiment."

"So, not sure what this means," Molly ventured.

"Please, Molly, not the right moment," Sherlock tsk-tsked. "Let's draw this moment out, shall we?"

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her head. She had just snuggled up when he rustled and unwinding himself from her, he leapt from the bed. He scooped up his robe and slid into it. He pounced over to the door.

"Right then, see you tomorrow," he said, opening the door and slipping out.

Before she could reply, he'd left and closed the door behind him. What this meant to him, she hadn't the faintest idea. She never knew what he thought or what he meant. She did know one thing, however: her bed sheets were soaking wet.


	2. Chapter 2

A Maddening Experiment

By Chinesemoon

Chapter 2

Molly dried her hair on a towel and stared at her reflection in the mirror. When she'd awoken, she had peered out her door and down the hallway. There was no sign of Sherlock and she had promptly bolted for the bedroom. Although she knew he was somewhere in her flat, she was relieved not to see him. She had no clue where they stood or what he was about.

After last night's abrupt exit scene, she didn't know what to think. He made love to her…the realization of it was still hitting her in a heated wave. She blushed, despite herself. Sherlock Holmes had made love to her. For all those months and months, he'd barely given her two glances. Molly practically kicked herself: why had she allowed him to…do those things to her? She gave herself a hard stare in the mirror. "You're the one who's bonkers," she told her reflection with a grimace.

Molly slipped her night gown and robe on, trying – and failing – not to think about Sherlock peeling her gown off of last night. After mentally giving herself a steadying pep talk, she walked down the hall to the kitchen. Sherlock was sitting at the table, staring out the window at the cars passing on the street below. She cleared her throat awkwardly but he acted as though he couldn't hear her.

"Morning," she offered feebly. He glanced over at her then pointed to the table.

"I've boiled eggs and made tea," he said. "That, sadly, is the extent of my knowledge."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "Lovely."

"Yes, aren't boiled eggs lovely," he said. His voice was maddeningly neutral.

Molly sipped her tea – which was entirely too strong. The eggs were rather raw as well.

"Sherlock…maybe we could have a chat…y-you know, about last night?"

He turned to regard her. His expression seemed blank. "Yes, go on," he said.

"Well…it's just…it was rather unexpected, what happened. I mean, it was nice…very nice…but ehm, well, don't quite know…" she trailed off. He seemed vacant. "oh, bollocks. Never mind."

His green eyes were penetrating. She suddenly felt quite naked before him. His face was so maddeningly indecipherable. She wanted so much to slap him, to cry, to scream or to do some combination of all those things. She couldn't deny that she felt something for him. Last night had boiled her blood, in more ways than one. It had thrilled her, scared her and confused her. She wasn't sure what to think anymore. She just wanted to understand. Hmph, understand Sherlock Holmes? What a joke.

They ate in silence.

When they were finished, Sherlock cleared the dishes from the table. He straightened his shirt and jacket and regarded her with a small smile. She peered up at him from her spot at the table. If she had learned anything from him it was to shut the ruddy hell up until he has made his own propositions.

"I think, under the circumstances, we should…omit any sexual behavior from our relationship."

Molly stared at him.

"Last night was, well, necessary," Sherlock went on. He pressed his palms together.

"Right, _necessary_," said Molly, standing and brushing imaginary crumbs from her lap. She tried hard to hide the hurt and anger in her voice. "Entirely _necessary_."

"Yes, well," Sherlock looked a little uncomfortable for the first time. "I suppose I thought we both needed it…to, shall we say, eliminate any sexual tension. It had been terribly long-standing."

"Ahh, yes," she said with a nod. "And so now our sexual tension is finished. Glad we've gotten that out of our system."

"Yes, I believe so," he said. "Now it's been dealt with."

Molly felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She could never understand what Sherlock was thinking at any one moment. She felt violated by him, betrayed. She felt like he'd taken advantage of her desire for him. She blushed, aware of his silent watching. She had desired him, and for one naïve moment, she thought perhaps he was capable of returning these simple human emotions. She was angrier than she'd ever been now. She glared at him under her blushing.

"Right, I agree," she said, much more harshly than she'd intended. "I think we've had that fling, and now we'll let it be. I'm not interested in an emotional game of cat and mouse, thanks very much."

"Hmm," he replied. "Good, then it's agreed."

"Right," she said firmly. She stood up more abruptly than she'd meant to. She was dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. As she stumbled slightly, she felt Sherlock's hand firmly clasp her arm to steady her.

"Really must be more careful," he muttered, now standing very close. Molly looked up at him timidly. Really, he needn't have been standing quite so close. And it must have been…at least 20 seconds since she felt dizzy…yet he was still gripping her—

"Right then," she said, trying to sound firm when in fact she felt like melting into a puddle. "Thanks, I'm—"

He was now leaning very close indeed. His breath was on her face. His eyes were staring intently at her lips.

"I'm finding there's still some sexual tension," he said, running his finger down the front of her neck and stopping short of her breasts.

"Might still be a bit," she squeaked. "Suppose we could just ignore it."

"Hmm," he said, regarding her up and down, his eyes now rather fiery. "Suppose we deal with it."

Before she could reply he scooped her up into his arms and sat her on the kitchen table. He kissed her passionately and desperately. The breath was practically knocked out of her. She was more than willing to oblige. They both seemed to have forgotten their prior agreement of ten minutes ago. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands pushing his jacket off.

He wiggled out of his jacket and tossed it behind him. With swift movement, he untied her robe and discarded it on the floor. Her night gown – the same blessed night gown – joined the robe and jacket. She was fumbling with his shirt buttons as best she could – her hands were shaking. She could hear the jiggle of his belt buckle coming undone. As she pushed off his shirt, she tried very hard not to gasp in the process of any of this. She had never felt this way in her life. Her skin was hot and her breathing was forced.

They were now completely naked. They both took a moment to stare at each other for the second time. She was blushing despite herself. She couldn't help her eyes wondering further and further down his pale body. She tried to force herself not to allow her stare to linger. She could feel him smiling.

Sherlock pushed her long brown hair down her back. He resumed his lovely kissing –down, down, down… he was quite lovely. Every few second she could feel him smiling against her skin. She was encouraged by this and became a little bolder. She hated how timid she always felt. She reached down…_all right then, just a little more_…_ahh, there you are. Well, hello._

"You are quite full of surprises," he growled.

"Yes, that's enough talk," she said in a voice she herself did not recognize.

He was more than willing to obey. His hands slipped down to touch her in a most exciting place. She tilted her head back, emitting small noises every few seconds. He kissed her, caressed her and when they both could stand it no longer, he connected with her, slowly, gloriously, seductively. They clung to one another, gasping and rocking together. She was vaguely aware of the table creaking under her. His pace would slow and then quicken in a most tantalizing way.

She was embarrassed to admit that there was some amount of begging and pleading on her part. She couldn't believe his seemingly cocky – yes, _cocky_ – self-control. Nonetheless, she could see he was slowly but surely falling to pieces despite himself. She made an effort to wrap herself tightly around his body. This seemed to have the intended effect: they came crashing down on each other.

When at last their breathing had evened, he pulled back from her and regarded her seriously.

"Just so you know," he said with a frown. "That was _also_ necessary."

"Yes," Molly said. "Quite necessary."

And she knew it had been.


	3. Chapter 3

A Maddening Experiment

By Chinesemoon

A/N: Thank you to all the VERY dedicated followers who waited patiently for me to upload. This is dedicated to you all!

Chapter 3

Molly unlocked the laboratory door and turned the knob, as gingerly as she could manage. The door creaked and she cringed. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and even that made a maddening squeak. She reached her arm into the darkened room and groped around for the light switch.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Sherlock breathed, exasperated. He pushed past her. He clicked on the light and strode into the lab, making a significant amount of noise. Molly scowled and shuffled in behind him.

"You told me to be quiet," she complained. "I know it's late, but security can still –"

"I disabled the security camera," Sherlock said, pulling out a lab stool and stilling at the white counter-top. He pulled a laptop out of his bag. "And also, in my experience, the guards aren't too perceptive here. I don't place much stock by the employees here."

"I suppose that includes me?" she said, hand on hips. He either didn't hear her or chose to completely ignore her. His eyes stared intently at his screen. She was sort of used to that by now. She wondered why she bothered to speak at all.

Molly took off her bag and tossed it onto the counter. She stared at him for a few silent moments and finally cleared her throat.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing?" she said impatiently.

"No."

"You seem awfully sure," Molly said timidly. "Could I help in some way?"

"No."

"Right then…" she trailed off and plunked herself down on a lab stool. She felt incredibly frustrated and confused. He asked her to bring him here, to the lab, in the middle of the night – no explanation, no please or thank you, just a cold demand. She had obeyed, as he surely knew she would. Whenever he had a ridiculous request (demand) she tried – really, really _tried_ – to look him in the eye and say no. But then, she had to admit, he had the most marvelous green eyes… it was rather hard not to get lost in them.

She suddenly felt very hot indeed. She struggled to pull her sweater over her head. She temporarily lost her balance on the lab stool but quickly recovered. She pulled the cumbersome garment over her head, ruffling her ponytail in the process. When she was free, she noticed Sherlock had paused in all his movement and was staring intently at her.

"What?" she demanded, half incredulous, half self-conscious.

He flipped his laptop closed with a satisfying _snap_. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. After a moment of intense examination – she never broke his gaze – he pressed his fingertips together and arched an eyebrow at her. She could practically see the wheels spinning in his brain. Suddenly a look came over him which she had trouble identifying.

"Perhaps I was too hasty in rejecting your assistance," he said thoughtfully.

"Oh?" Molly perked up slightly. She pushed up her sleeves. "Right, perfect! What do you need?"

He stood and walked up to her. He stood directly in front of her, very close. She tried not to notice the positioning of his belt to her mouth. She was sitting, after all. She struggled to ignore all the thoughts which were flooding her head. _Surely not, _she thought. _He already said that was over._

"Get up," he ordered. She rose to her feet shakily. "Take your top off."

"E-excuse me?" she started nervously. Her face grew hot, betraying her damned arousal.

"You heard me, take your top off or I'll do it myself," he breathed in a low voice. "And I can't guarantee I won't rip it to shreds."

Molly gulped as quietly as she could. Her heart was pounding terribly in her chest. "I-I'm not your toy," she spat. "I'm not just going to drop my panties any time you decide it suits you!"

He stepped closer and breathed in her scent. "Are you wearing panties?" he asked inquisitively. He smiled slightly and dug his nose into her hair. He whispered in her ear, "Good girl."

"Sherlock," she pushed him back from her. "I can't do this. It's not fair. Either we do it or we don't do it, but you can't walk all over my feelings. It's…it's not right."

Sherlock ran the back side of his hand down her arm. He tisked. "Molly," he said, shaking his head. "You can really be such a prude sometimes."

He pulled her to him again. She was barely able to breathe. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through his wonderful, curly hair. She'd wanted to do that since she'd first met him.

"You're fascinating," he whispered roughly in her ear, once again. "Just when I think I've had enough of you, you turn me on."

He pulled back and looked at her. She couldn't stand it any longer. She leaned in and kissed him, quickly, deeply, as if it might be the last damn thing she did in her life. Their hands were all over each other, wondering, searching, trying desperately to fulfill an aching void. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She was fumbling with the bottoms of his shirt. She helped him shrug out of his shirt. Their movements were almost blurs in her eyes. She could barely process the information. She had never felt she dizzy.

He picked her up easily and set her down on the white table-top of the lab. Her skin connected with the cool surface as he gently pushed her down onto her back. Her sensible pants were off in a flash. He pulled her back up for a moment and easily removed her bra. He pushed her back into the table and stood examining her, taking in every inch of her, admiring, speculating, _planning something_.

Sherlock placed his two hands on the edge of the table, as if steadying himself. He ran a hand through his dark locks, ruffling his hair even more than it already was. Molly wanted to sit up and grab his hair and (she was started to realize) _pull_. She dared not move though. Sherlock smiled devilishly. He leaned over and placed his lips on her stomach. He kissed lightly. He kissed again…and again…and again. His mouth was damp and each time he lifted his face, she felt the cool air hit that patch of damp skin. Molly let out a rather pathetic whimper. She was absolutely prepared to do whatever he asked. That was rather maddening, as just five minutes before, she was resolute on denying all his advances. He was terribly wonderful at getting his way.

Sherlock grabbed her legs and pulled her to the edge of the table. She was practically ready to die by now. His finger hooked around the hem of her panties.

"I should investigate further," he said wickedly, grinning at her. He slowly pulled the panties down. God, she could scream at the top of her lungs.

"Sherlock," she breathed at long last. "Didn't know you were in the business of torture…"

"Dear girl," he said, kissing the inside of her leg slowly and seductively. "There's so much you don't know about me."

"I can see that," Molly gasped.

"Can you, now?" he growled. "Maybe you need a demonstration…to, shall we say, clarify?"

"Perhaps I do," she said, grasping the side of the table tightly.

His mouth, no – oh, dear Lord, his tongue – was working its way up her thigh. Higher, higher, his hands were moving in all the right places…

There was a loud buzzing suddenly. It was terribly annoying and distracting. Molly tried to ignore it, but it become louder, louder—

Molly shot up in her bed and groped for her alarm clock. Bleary eyed, she shut the damn thing off. She took an extremely deep breath and slowly lowered herself back down into the bed. She felt as if she'd just run a marathon.

Without a doubt, it was time for a very cold shower.


End file.
